


What Hurts The Most

by inkcharm



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Gen, Neglect, Post-Canon, Songfic, not compatible with legends of korra, written before lok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-05 00:05:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4158081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkcharm/pseuds/inkcharm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crushed by his duties as Fire Lord and all the while trying to find his mother, Zuko fails to see he is sliding down a dangerous path of self-destruction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Hurts The Most

**Author's Note:**

> Written years ago, after ATLA aired but before LOK was a thing, therefore this one-shit isn't canon-compatible with anything after ATLA.

_I can take the rain on the roof of this empty house_   
_That don’t bother me_   
_I can take a few tears now and then and just let them out_   
_I’m not afraid to cry every once in a while_   
_Even though going on with you gone still upsets me_   
_There are days every now and again I pretend I’m ok_   
_But that’s not what gets me_

 

* * *

 

The Fire Lord’s office was quite a nice place. It reflected simple elegance through mahogany, brass, and a little black marble. There were deep red curtains as well as some drapes in lighter colours. A few tasteful paintings – a smiling group of people dear to the Fire Lord, a sketch of the Western Air Temple, a few other amazing landscapes – could be found in the room. The walls were lined with bookshelves and scroll cases. One side of the office opened to a balcony filled with greenery overlooking the vast gardens. Around an elegant fireplace one would find a comfortable sitting area, allowing for less formal conversation than could be held over a desk.

 

Said desk was made of mahogany and had been disappearing rapidly over the course of the last few months. Scroll upon scroll had been piled upon it, and sometimes even a weary head, for these days it was not uncommon to find the Fire Lord falling asleep over his work out of sheer exhaustion.

 

Peace was not an easy business, as he had found out.

 

Of course, he had always realized that as the Fire Nation’s ruler he would have a lot of duties, responsibilities and work, especially considering the fact that he had to make up for all the wrong his nation had done in the Hundred Years War. However, he had not expected to be buried beneath work quite so quickly and thoroughly. For the first two months things went smoothly. Uncle Iroh had been around as an advisor both to the Fire Lord and young Zuko, whichever currently needed him, always offering support and wisdom. Mai had been there to soothe his nerves, which threatened to buckle under the heavy burden he carried. But she had been stable and aloof as always. The other nations had taken it easy on him, for everyone knew the Fire Lord was barely more than a teenager himself. They gave him some time to adjust to his new position, to gain some balance in the beginning of his reign. After a while Iroh had travelled back to Ba Sing Se, where he had finally reopened that tea shop, believing his nephew to be perfectly capable of handling things on his own.

 

Zuko had started to be more at ease and more confident in his role as Fire Lord and shared his uncle’s confidence. This was the chance this beast called Reality had been waiting for. It had waited in the shadows for him to let down his guard. Then it pounced, drove its claws into him and refused to let go.

 

This expressed itself in a way that made Zuko feel as though he had advanced from his Fire Lord beginner’s class to a difficulty akin to “getting Toph to put on a fancy dress”, skipping everything in between. Work started crashing into Zuko from everywhere and as soon as he managed to get a hold on one situation, the next called for his attention. It was never-ending, and trying to keep up with everything to everyone’s satisfaction was a horrible task. Zuko tried telling himself that if his Uncle hadn’t left for Ba Sing Se he’d have said something along the lines of “You’ll never be able to please everyone”. Weirdly enough, everyone was still expecting him to do just that. And so he found himself desperately fighting to meet everyone’s expectations.

 

His father had somehow managed to pull this stunt off. Countless men and women before him had been able to do it. And he was not just any Fire Lord, he was directly descended from Avatar Roku’s bloodline, he was Avatar Aang’s former firebending teacher, he was a war hero. He was too damn proud and stubborn to admit defeat so soon.

 

Mai had walked out on him a few weeks ago, after getting bored with the lack of attention he gave her. Between public audiences, counsels, meetings, negotiations and the paperwork, he barely even had time for himself, so he couldn’t blame her, really. Usually, free time meant he would grab an ostrich horse and go “adventuring”, as his advisors disdainfully called it. Adventuring, to Zuko, though, meant looking for his mother, a task he pursued with even more passion than his quest to capture the Avatar nearly two years ago. Mai deserved someone who was devoted to her, not just his work and the search for his own mother.

 

Of course, they had all tried to keep him from searching. It was not safe for the Fire Lord to run away from the palace just to search for a woman who might or might not live. His advisors had hired the best scouts to search the nation up and down in the hopes of discouraging Zuko from his little trips. He would have none of it. The fact that neither the scouts nor he had been able to find a trace yet only fuelled the guilt he felt. He thought of himself as the worst son and the worst Fire Lord in history, although he swallowed those opinions. It wouldn’t do to whine in his palace, lest he wanted the whole nation to know about his frailty in a matter of days. A Fire Lord needed to be strong.

 

Currently, Zuko could be found hunched over some reports, as usual. With a slight groan he stretched and rubbed a hand over his neck. He was tempted to go looking for a blade and cut off the hair that was reaching past his shoulder blades again. On days like this it felt so heavy and sticky against his neck. And what he wouldn’t give for his old ponytail. The last time he simply tied the length of hair up to keep it out of his face and away from his neck during work, his advisors had nearly suffered from various heart attacks. They claimed such a hairdo was befitting for a young prince, but surely not for the glorious Fire Lord.

 

Barely eighteen years old and with sweatslick hair sticking to his neck, Zuko felt anything but glorious. His advisors, however, were very good in forgetting that he had been a young prince not so long ago. He didn’t feel royal and almighty at all. The power he held was great, so great in fact that it terrified him most of the time. If he decided to start another war, no one would dare to speak up against him. The thought frightened Zuko. After all the damage his predecessors had done it would take the people years to figure out that he wanted to rule with a kind hand, that he wanted to earn their loyalty through respect instead of forcing it upon them through fear.

 

Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Laughter was drifting into his office from the gardens. His friends were visiting again: Aang, Sokka, Suki and Katara. They were fooling around in the garden, no doubt feeding turtleducks and playing games.

 

The boy Zuko had never quite ceased to yearn to leave work be and join them. He couldn’t, though. His duty, his crown had to come first, even though it pained him. It was the pond where the turtleducks lived that called to him the strongest. Each time he so much as thought of the gardens, he saw them in his mind and, ultimately, began thinking of his mother. Those thoughts haunted him all the time. Mother. Ursa. Gone. And he was unable to find her. Such a failure.

 

Lucky to be born.

 

Suppressing a small groan, Zuko rubbed his eyes. These financial reports were giving him a major headache, for he had to cross read them with various demands other countries were making on the Fire Nation - money he had to pay in order to get repaired what his father had destroyed - and the contracts he had signed with those specific countries, which in turn had footnotes leading to… Agni only knew what other contracts and agreements could possibly have any relevance to the current case. How was he ever going to find them in this mess of scrolls on his desk and in the shelves? Yes, he very well knew that he should have most of the mess memorized by now, but financial reports were just something that made his mind shut down. The headaches were not making things easier.

 

Whimpering slightly, Zuko buried his face in his hands and raked his fingers through his hair, messing it up again. The knot on which the small golden flame sat that served as a crown in the Fire Nation constantly felt too tight these days. He was no longer able to rid himself of the throbbing behind his forehead, or the dizziness, for that matter. At least he could very well guess the origin of that. In order to get all the work done, he not only usually worked late into the night, but he often skipped meals, too. After all, neither his uncle nor Mai were around anymore to mother him about eating regularly. What did they know? How could he spare the time for a big fancy meal with such a tight schedule? Besides, he had servants bringing some light snacks into his office when he was working there. He didn’t remember to eat them sometimes, but since his stomach was neither hurting nor grumbling, he figured that it was alright for the time being.

 

Some of the laughter got closer, and all of a sudden Aang burst into the room, having flown to the balcony. “You need to see this! Sokka fell into the pond and now the turtleducks are all over him. He’s screeching like a girl.”

 

Zuko did not look up, although he yearned to go outside and share a good laugh with his friends. But… no. He had to finish this. Besides, looking at the pond and seeing the turtleducks would just bring back more painful memories. Agni, how he longed for his mother. He just could not believe that a year after the war he was still incapable of locating her. But this was reality and not some cheesy novel in which he would have found her just by following his pathetically bleeding heart. Reality, indeed, meant that he would curl up in bed and cry himself to sleep every other night because he needed the one person with whom he shared a pure bond, one not stained by his own mistakes and failures. Zuko just needed to know if she could still love him after all these years. More than anything, he needed to look into her golden eyes, so much like his own, and tell her how much he loved her.

 

“I can’t, Aang. I’m in the middle of… something… financial reports...”

 

He felt a gentle tug and looked up with surprise as black hair fell down into his face, suddenly freed from the traditional topknot. Aang set both the hair band and the crown down on the desk in front of Zuko.

 

“Just for a few minutes”, he said softly. “The Fire Lord will wait in here, so that Zuko can get some fresh air and spend quality time with his friends. I’m sure those reports won’t run away.”

 

The temptation. Oh, the temptation. “No”, he just breathed, sounding tired. He resisted the urge to look up and beg Aang for understanding. “I need to figure this out for the meeting with my advisors. The schedule’s tight enough as it is.”

 

Aang looked at his friend for a while longer, concern written in his grey eyes. Finally he smiled and tucked some of the unruly black hair behind Zuko’s unscarred ear. “Just promise not to let that weigh you down too much, okay?” he said and pointed at the crown. “Take a break once in a while. You could use a few days off and away from the palace.”

 

Zuko just nodded, eyes already skimming over the scroll again. If Aang only knew how much he yearned for a few days off. In a matter of a few days he could cover so much more ground in his never-ending search for Ursa.

 

Aang hesitated, then left. Zuko’s stomach tried to gain its owner’s attention by grumbling and was silenced with a harsh “Enough already!” Just when he thought he had gotten rid of distractions his own body decided to betray him. Again.

 

The afternoon faded. The sun set, the moon rose and darkness descended over the Fire Nation.

 

“Will you not join us for dinner?”

 

The curtains in the office were drawn closed; the only source of light was a lamp on the desk. The Fire Lord himself sat hunched over yet another particularly long scroll, brow furrowed and shoulders slumped. He had not moved since Aang’s interruption a few hours ago.

 

“Zuko?”

 

Finally, he looked up.

 

“Huh…? Oh. Katara.”

 

She sighed as she walked towards the desk. The young healer hated what the throne had done to Zuko. His skin was ashen, his eyes dull and he had lost quite a lot of weight. Katara had no idea how often he was skipping meals, but it had clearly happened too many times already. There were dark circles underneath his eyes.

 

“Come, Zuko. Dinner is ready to be served. Join us at the table. We’ve been here for a week already, but just like last time we haven’t had a straight half an hour with you so far.”

 

He pressed a hand to his mouth and for a moment Katara thought he might throw up. Instead, his thin frame shook with painful coughs, air rattling in his lungs. She wondered if he had fallen ill. It was hard to tell considering his overall messy state.

 

“Sorry”, he rasped out. “Must’ve choked on… something…” Thin hands went into his hair. “I’m not hungry.”

 

Katara placed her hands on his desk and leaned forwards. “Zuko, this is ridiculous! You work too much, but eat and sleep too little. You need to rest.”

 

“I can’t rest!” he snapped. “Just… just look at all of this. The pile is not getting smaller. This nation won’t rule itself, Katara… and this…” he gestured at the scroll he had been reading when she entered “… this is most important… oh sure, it’s chicanery, the Earth King’s finest, but I need to get it done. If he doesn’t get a quick reply, his court will start accusing me of not being a capable ruler AGAIN.”

 

Sighing, she stepped around the desk and stopped at his side. Lost in thought, she began combing the length of his hair with her fingers, surprised that he wasn’t even willing to snap at her to stop doing that. Katara herself found touching Zuko highly soothing. It was a way of reassuring herself that her friend was still there.

 

“You can’t rule the nation when you push yourself over the edge, Zuko. You need to stay healthy and strong for your people. I don’t think they want you to break down a year after your coronation.”

 

One bony hand clenched into a fist. “I won’t.”, he hissed.

 

“Good.” Katara carefully tied his messy hair into a loose ponytail that would stay out of his face. “Now, let that scroll go, whatever it is, and come with me.”

 

“I’ll join you later.”

 

When Katara returned to the dining room, she knew he wouldn’t. She shook her head at her friends, watching as their expressions fell. They had all hoped for Zuko to spend time with them again. They worried.

 

During the meal they all wondered when the young man in that office had stopped being Zuko, who slipped into the role of Fire Lord in public. Instead, he had become the Fire Lord, who rarely pretended to be Zuko these days.

 

Alone once more in his office, Zuko fought to stay awake.

 

The small scribbling on the scroll kept moving in and out of focus, as though the letters were dancing on the parchment. It was hot, too hot, in his office. Desperately he clawed at his robe’s collar, but to no avail. He felt like he was choking.

 

Cold sweat was running down his spine while his tongue tried to wet his dry lips. Strands of hair stuck to his face.

 

The pounding in his head had gotten worse. He was feeling dizzy. His stomach ached once more with the lack of food, no matter how much he tried to convince himself it didn’t.

 

The scroll was not from the Earth Kingdom. It was a report, sent by one of the scouts. It contained nothing, absolutely nothing useful. Dead ends. Lost hopes. Advice to give up.

 

He would not cry here and now. He was the Fire Lord and his people needed him strong.

 

He would not give in.

 

* * *

 

 _What hurts the most_  
 _Was being so close_  
 _And having so much to say_  
 _And watching you walk away_  
 _And never knowing_  
 _What could have been_  
 _And not seeing that loving you_  
 _Is what I was tryin’ to do_  


* * *

 

 

Royal prisoners were not kept too far from the palace. Zuko had made a habit of travelling there once every two weeks or so after he was done with the day’s work. It usually meant the prisoners had to be woken in the middle of the night, for the Fire Lord would skip sleep in order to pay those visits.

 

One hand reached up and touched the angry scar on his face. Zuko waited a moment before he began descending towards the lower levels of the high security prison. The only sounds were his own footsteps and his strained breathing. The flickering torches were doing nothing to improve his headache or the dizziness.

 

Zuko stopped and rubbed his eyes, allowing this sign of weakness to show only now that no one else was around to take notice. His lungs felt uncomfortably tight from the heavy air inside the dungeons, but he fought the urge to cough. Every time he gave in to it, pain would explode in his chest.

 

The stairs led to a broad hallway, lined with cells on both sides. Loyal guards were positioned at the hallway’s entrance. They greeted him with respect and concern in their voices. Zuko scowled. He had been coming here regularly for the past year, always staying the night, and always leaving even more troubled than he had arrived. It pained the guards to see their young ruler’s shoulders sagging when he left, deep circles under his eyes. His skin, they had very well noticed, had paled even more since his coronation. The golden eyes seemed dull and he had lost a lot of weight. Zuko had considered replacing the guards just for the sake of not feeling their concern anymore. But they were good men, loyal and discreet. So he nodded to them and was glad that he did not need to make the effort to speak in order to get the door at the end of the hallway unlocked for him.

 

Taking one breath, he entered.

 

Ozai looked good, considering that he was a prisoner who had lost everything: his war, his throne, his firebending. Zuko found the thought of ever losing his bending terrifying, strongly believing that he could get through every setback if the fire running through his veins just stayed with him. He was not in form for lack of training with his swords, but if all other defences failed around him, he could at least fight for himself with bending instead of relying on others to save him. Ozai would never be independent again. He knew only the violence of his fire, but that had been taken from him. Sometimes, Zuko felt sorry for him.

 

Silence stretched. Zuko sat on a bench next to the door, eyes resting on his father, who in turn stared at him. It was a battle they always fought, daring each other to look away, to show weakness. Today, Zuko gave in. Lately, he just couldn’t be bothered with even such a simple test of wills.

 

“You’re weak”, Ozai snarled. “Always have been, always will be. That crown is clearly not yours to wear.”

 

Zuko was tempted to pull the golden flame from his hair and hold it out towards his father, just out of reach. He’d say something like “If you want it so badly, go ahead and take it. I have a few of them in my drawer in case one breaks.” But that would have been petty and childish, completely unbefitting of a Fire Lord, no matter the satisfaction it would have brought.

 

“The Nation’s coming along fine”, he remarked instead. “The people really like peace for a change.”

 

A strand of still silky black hair was pushed over a shoulder. How did he do that? How could he look so regal and superior even behind bars? Zuko’s own hair was a mess, not matter how many people tended to it. The only time it looked well-kempt was if he just stuck to tying a very tight knot, which worsened the headaches but made for a decent Fire Lord look. Oh well. The sacrifices he had to make.

 

“I don’t think you like peace all that much”, Ozai drawled. “Your lacking skills as a fighter and bender could always be covered up in the war when you went up against weaker opponents. Your absolute failure as a prince and as Fire Lord these days cannot be hidden, though, now that it’s been dragged into the light of day.” Ozai smiled cruelly. “I always knew you’d crumble under the strain. You just don’t have it in you.”

 

“Perhaps I don’t”, Zuko admitted. “That’s why I’m not relying on my given birthright in this matter. I’m putting all the effort into it I can.”

 

For a moment Ozai’s face seemed to soften. “And look where that got you.” The moment faded and Zuko scratched it up to his own exhaustion and a trick of the light. His father, feeling and even showing sympathy? He couldn’t even focus his own eyes anymore. “You’re a wreck, Zuko. I’m ashamed to have sired such a mess.”

 

“Seems to run in the family, don’t you think? Azula got another therapist to quit.” Zuko winced slightly at his own words. She was his little sister. She was another of his many responsibilities. He still cared for her, even though he didn’t want to.

 

A harsh snort. Zuko knew that mentioning Azula’s broken mind always hit close to whatever his father had instead of a real heart. “Why don’t you just spit out what really brought you here? The usual, I guess.”

 

The Fire Lord leaned forwards, arms resting on his legs, his whole body sagging slightly with the strain of having to stay awake, to stay focused, to keep fighting. Agni, how he longed to slump to the ground and fall asleep forever. He felt so horrible. But he needed to keep pushing himself. This was important. 

 

“Tell me where my mother is.”

 

Ozai just smirked.

 

When the Fire Lord emerged from the cell hours later, it took him a moment to collect himself. Only after a few minutes had passed was he able to straighten his back and hold his head high once more as he started towards another part of the prison. The guards pretended not to see just how much he was shaking, but they were careful to stay close enough to catch him should his legs give way all the same.

 

This other part of the prison was more nicely kept than the previous. It was for those prisoners who had not come out of the war without severe injuries or who weren’t healthy enough to make it through another year. This was where Azula was kept as well. Screams echoed through the long halls, not all of them hers, and each pounded in Zuko’s skull and sliced into his heart. This was a horrible place, and he saw his visits here as some self-imposed punishment for being such a failure. Atonement for both his past and present mistakes.

 

Zuko crouched inside the cell, padded so that she would not hurt herself. She had a good day it seemed, for there had been no need to restrain her. Azula just sat huddled in a corner, rocking herself back and forth.

 

“Hey, Azula.”

 

Eyes the colour of ancient gold glanced up and she smiled in that deluded way that gave Zuko the creeps. “Hey, Zuzu.”

 

Her bending had been taken by Avatar Aang, too. It was a good thing. In her state of mind, Azula was not just a danger to others, but to herself, too. And somehow, Zuko knew that, just as he had been unable to kill her in the moment of her final defeat, he also would not be able to bear it if she killed herself on purpose or accidently.

 

“You don’t look so good.” It was the same mocking tone she had used when he was lying on the ground, twitching from being hit by her lightning. Unconsciously, his hand rested on his stomach, right where the scar was hidden by layers of clothing. Azula’s mind was trapped somewhere between Mai’s and Ty Lee’s betrayal and her defeat. On some days, she would yell for someone to scrub her feet in preparation of her coronation. On other days, she would be reduced to sobs and beg Mai and Ty Lee not to leave her. Very seldom were the moments when she would look at Zuko and scream “You’re not my mother anymore!” upon looking into the eyes he had inherited from Ursa. Those were the worst for Zuko.

 

“No, I do not look so good”, he agreed. “Sometimes I wonder how you’d have coped if our roles were reversed. Not half as bad as me, I guess. You never would have crumbled upon being faced with financial reports. You wouldn’t have felt the need to apologize to every farmer who came begging for less taxes, or every child orphaned by the war that begged for your help. You wouldn’t stay awake the whole night, pondering how you could help each of them, how you could make each of them happy. You wouldn’t have felt guilty for each decision that favoured one person over another, or for not being able to find… Her.” It was not a good idea to mention Ursa around Azula.

 

Zuko sighed and pulled on his collar. The air on this level of the prison was so much better, and still he found it hard to breathe.

 

“I told Ozai you had scared another therapist away. I really wish some of his efforts would have paid off, though.  We’re running out of options for you, Azula. People across the country keep refusing my requests to hire them for your case, and even ordering them here doesn’t get us anywhere anymore. I should probably stop spending all that money on you and just throw you in with father. You’d be his problem again then and I could use the money to do more good. But we both know I’m too soft to do that.”

 

Azula started wailing again. Agni, how she was tearing his heart to pieces. He was supposed to hate her for everything she had done. But he couldn’t. So he just stayed where he was, crouching near the door, watching over Azula as she slipped in and out of madness, yelling at him for ruining her life in her more lucid moments, wailing and screaming at everything and nothing when she got worse again.

 

Whenever he visited Azula, Zuko told her things in his mind. His mouth always remained closed as he related tales of the Fire Nation’s progress and the things happening around the palace. He liked to imagine his voice having a soothing effect on her if he’d speak the words aloud, even though she was not the tiny child seeking her big brother’s protection in the middle of the night anymore. But he was silent, because no matter her state, this was Azula, and he still feared that somehow, someday she’d come around and be able to use everything he’d said against him just as she had always done.

 

When she fell asleep after an eternity, he left as silently as he had come, never once looking back.

 

* * *

 

_It’s hard to deal with the pain of losing you everywhere I go_   
_But I’m doin’ it_   
_It’s hard to force that smile when I see our old friends and I’m alone_   
_Still Harder_   
_Getting up, getting dressed, livin’ with this regret_   
_But I know if I could do it over_   
_I would trade, give away all the words that I saved in my heart_   
_That I left unspoken_

 

* * *

 

The sun was just rising when Zuko finally arrived in his own room in the palace again. His travel cloak lifelessly fluttered to the ground and he himself sat down heavily on the edge of his spacious bed. He was surrounded by wealth and elegance and warmth, and never did he feel more out of place in here than after visiting the prison.

 

Zuko did not move at all. But when a knock on his door a while later announced that the Fire Lord was expected, the tearstains on his cheeks had already dried.

 

Zuko did not allow his body the rest it so desperately needed. His mind was always busy with state affairs, his heart yearned to run away and find his mother and tell her he loved her and missed her and beg her to come back with him, and his body screamed for help. The young man had completely lost his way, had forgotten to think of himself. All that mattered these days was getting the job done and finding his mother.

 

“You’re dying”, a part of his mind observed that sounded oddly like his younger self.

 

“I refuse to”, was the Fire Lord’s silent reply.

 

The painful coughing had not faded from his body. It had worsened after having been suppressed most of the time. He made sure to carry some deep red tissues with him all the time now, for with each cough there would be a few specks of blood staining his lips.

 

Zuko simply refused to acknowledge it, though. He was fine enough to do his work.

 

So what if he didn’t eat properly? He wasn’t hungry.

 

So what if he didn’t sleep properly? He wasn’t sleepy.

 

So what if he didn’t keep himself in shape? There was no need for warriors anymore.

 

So what if he was afraid to close his eyes because then he’d see his mother’s face and be wracked with guilt for not having found her yet, the fear of never being able to tell her everything he needed to say freezing his heart?

 

Aang and the others had reluctantly departed a while ago, each returning to their own duties and tasks. Not Katara, though. She had insisted on staying, ignoring protests and orders and requests. As a healer, she said, it was her duty to stay behind and find a way to kick Zuko’s butt so hard he’d see some sense again and take time off.

 

Take time off.

 

As though being the Fire Lord was just any profession from which you could retire in the evening. No, he was on duty all the time, he could never stop being the Fire Lord, except for a few hours at night in his own bed if he could afford to go there. Then he would allow himself to be Zuko, not the ruler, not the prince, just the boy, and he would cry silently until his troubled mind fell silent and his body shut down.

 

Zuko was oblivious to many things these days. He did not see where his self-neglect was leading him, and he did not see that he was breaking Katara’s heart more and more each day when he refused to let her help him. No matter how much she raged or pleaded with him, he wouldn’t be swayed from his self-destructive course.

 

Katara had already tried to rally the palace’s staff on her quest to get the Fire Lord to take things easy, but the memories of both Azula and Ozai were still much too fresh in everyone’s mind. Even though Katara herself was quite fearsome when things didn’t go the way she had intended, no one dared to speak up in the presence of the Fire Lord. It wasn’t for a lack of caring on their part. Truly, people had started to love the troubled young man who did everything he could to make their lives better when he had suffered in his own childhood so much. They loved him for taking after his mother, whom some still remembered with smiles on their faces despite her banishment, instead of his father, whose cruel reign still cast shadows over the frail peace. It wasn’t easy to erase years of terror, and it would take so much longer than just this one year. And so everyone worried for Zuko in silence. Everyone but Katara, who grew more frustrated with each passing day, to the point where she was almost willing to go so far as to freeze the Fire Lord in a block of ice and only free him if the whole damn Fire Nation agreed to force him to take it just a little more easy. Somehow, though, she felt that doing so wouldn’t sit all that well with the people around here. And considering that the palace was inhabited by quite a lot of very capable firebenders, Katara knew she didn’t stand much of a chance. Which left her right where she currently was – trying to encourage the kitchen staff to whip up all of Zuko’s favourite dishes AGAIN, hoping against hope that he would take the time to enjoy a lengthy dinner just this once. 

 

Currently, Zuko wasn’t really sitting in the chair behind his desk. Truthfully, the chair was the only thing holding him somewhat upright right now. Zuko tried to work up the energy to attack the urgent messages that had arrived today, but he found himself unable to do so. Scowling at his own weakness, he pushed a loose strand of hair from his forehead. So much work. So much to do. Where to begin?

 

Sighing, he sat up. The room felt like an oven to him even though the servant bringing him his mail – already searched for potential dangers – had shivered from the cold. Zuko had not bothered lighting the fireplace, and the huge windows were opened wide so that a cool breeze could ease the heat. Seeing as it was autumn and winter was rapidly approaching, said breeze was rather freezing. Not that he’d have felt it. But declaring the room as too warm brought a lot less trouble than admitting that his own temperature had risen beyond what was considered normal even for a stressed firebender.

 

Zuko’s erratic movements stopped as his conscious mind tried to catch up with what he had just noticed. Slowly, he placed the scroll he was holding back on the pile for stuff he had yet to look through – so much larger than the pile for what he had already finished today – and looked at the ones he had previously considered again.

 

There it was.

 

Zuko’s heart skipped a beat, his good eye widened. Another report from one of the scouts? All of them had claimed to have encountered dead ends and given up their search. All but one, whom he had completely forgotten about. What kind of Fire Lord was he, not even stumbling over these important details until they were smacked into his face?

 

Trembling hands broke the seal while Zuko fought hard to control his breathing. Bittersweet hope started blossoming once more. Could it be? Could this message finally be the one that brought his mother back? Yes, it had to be. There was a tingling sensation inside of him, and for once it wasn’t fatigue.

 

Frantically, his eyes scanned the parchment. He skipped huge passages that detailed the routes the scout had taken, the means he had used to accomplish each step of his journey. Zuko didn’t care, and should he find the man had slit someone’s throat upon a closer reading, he’d think of an appropriate punishment later, but for now he simply didn’t, COULDN’T, care. He started pacing the room in sheer excitement as he kept reading.

 

And then he found it.

 

Yes.

 

Near Ba Sing Se.

 

Just a little further to the east.

 

Relief flooded through Zuko. Of course. She had left the country. It had been impossible for Zuko to find her, for he had never been able to stray far from the Fire Nation Capital. Tears stung Zuko’s eyes, but he smiled. Near Ba Sing Se. Close to his Uncle. Maybe he could convince his advisors that a diplomatic trip to the Earth Capital was in order. Yes.

 

And then he read the words he had skipped over before and dropped the scroll. The world spun. An icy claw gripped his chest and squeezed, pressing all the air from his lungs and locking around his heart so tightly that he felt it would burst.

 

As if someone had slowed time, it took Zuko’s knees ages to meet the floor. When he noticed that he just kept falling forwards, he stretched his arms out just in time to catch himself from collapsing completely. Tears filled his eyes and it took all of his self-control not to start screaming hysterically.

 

“No”, he whimpered, reaching for the letter once more. Even though his vision was blurry from unshed tears he found the paragraph quickly once more, carefully reading every single word once, twice, over and over until there was no doubt left.

 

A grave.

 

Just a little east of Ba Sing Se.

 

A grave.

 

 

She was dead.

 

Zuko’s breathing hitched as he desperately fought to control himself. The strain of moving nearly had him fainting when he sat up and leaned back against one of the desk’s legs. When the tears spilled he buried his face in his arms and used the heavy fabric of his robes to silence his sobs and screams. 

 

* * *

  
  
_What hurts the most_  
Is being so close  
And having so much to say  
And watching you walk away  
And never knowing  
What could have been  
And not seeing that loving you  
Is what I was trying to do

 

* * *

 

Getting into the Earth Kingdom without revealing his identity had been a lot easier than Zuko would have guessed. He really would need to have a serious talk with some people as soon as he returned to being the Fire Lord. For now, though, Zuko was a nameless stranger, hiding his face in the shadows of a hood, bribing and purchasing and sneaking his way closer and closer to his ultimate goal.

 

He had no idea what he’d do once he found it. Agni, it all felt so unreal, as though it was happening to someone else.

 

How could she be dead? After all this time in which he had held onto her memory as his only light, his only hope. How could she be gone? Forever?

 

Zuko slowed his ostrich horse and leaned over its neck, giving in to rattling coughs once more and spitting blood onto the dirt track. He had a hard time following its course through these woods for various reasons. For one, the track seemed to be rarely used and nature had done an amazing job of reclaiming it so far, hiding large parts of it beneath wild plant growth so that he’d lose his way and had to search slowly and carefully for the places in which the path would emerge once more. The other reason was his health.

 

Fever was raging in his body, burning so hot that even the ostrich horse had shied away from his mere touch in the beginning. He had to fight for every second he managed to stay on the ostrich horse, pushing himself onwards further and further, because finding a suitable location to set up camp, tying up the horse, and lighting a fire seemed too much effort currently.

 

What had he been thinking when he left the palace head over heels that night? But no, he had not been thinking at all, still wasn’t.

 

After crying for hours in his office, Zuko had somehow managed to grab a hold of his composure once more and marched back into his own rooms. He hadn’t packed much – some of his simple black and brown travelling clothes, enough gold to get him anywhere in the world without anyone caring for his name or identity, and the scroll which described the gra-… his mother’s location. That was all. He didn’t stop to consider taking weapons – he was out of shape anyway and would be lucky to perform some decent firebending if someone decided to attack him for some reason – and he just couldn’t be bothered with food. Not anymore. Besides, someone nosy would have been bound to hear about any visit he’d pay to the kitchens.

 

Katara.

 

Oh, he would have to apologize to her if he managed to push himself over the edge on this crazy journey. She would never forgive him if he actually managed to die out here, so close to Ba Sing Se and yet in the middle of nowhere.

 

Why did he never think these things through? He had left his country with nothing more than a very short note explaining that he would be back in a few weeks and the plea to keep things silent about his absence, leaving others to sort out the mess he had created by running away.

 

But he had had no choice, really. This was about Ursa. He had to reach her.

 

No matter what the cost.

 

Maybe he would even find the strength to travel to Ba Sing Se once he had paid his respects to her. He would go straight to his Uncle and beg for advice and help. Then he’d return to his palace and… would he even have the throne anymore? Would the people demand another ruler in his absence? He couldn’t exactly blame them. Maybe it would be for the better.

 

Night had already fallen when he had left the palace by sneaking around guards and climbing over walls. It had taken much longer than usual since his body was weak and frail, but somehow, he had managed it. The sun had been rising when he had reached the harbour and bought illegal passage on the next merchant vessel. With nothing else to do besides huddle in the corner of the cargo hold, he opted between stealing just enough food from the kitchens – which he hadn’t paid for – not to collapse and trying to sleep as little as possible. His dreams always consisted of his nation in ruins and his mother telling him it was his fault before she died in his arms.

 

He did not want to sleep. He did not need to sleep. He was fine, wasn’t he? Zuko’s thoughts had somehow kept him awake most of the time during the passage; they did the same on ostrich horseback. If only his eyes wouldn’t keep drooping. His chin kept sinking to his chest and he would jerk awake, startling the ostrich horse. Groaning, Zuko rubbed his burning eyes. How long without sleep, how long without proper food? It didn’t matter. He just needed to go on and find the hilltop described in the report. Nothing would stop him from reaching his destination as soon as humanly possible.

 

Briefly, Zuko wondered why it was getting dark so quickly here in the woods. The trees faded and were replaced by ruins and corpses and flames and death.

 

“This is your fault.”

 

Zuko cried out in pain as he hit the ground. Slowly, the world started to take shape around him again. What had happened? Had he fallen asleep? Disoriented, he looked around. The ostrich horse disappeared in the distance, leaving him lying in the dirt.

 

Blinking, he tried to get a grasp of the situation once more. On his way to his mother. Right. He had a goal and just lost his means of reaching it. Such a failure. Groaning, Zuko rolled onto his stomach. Stupid ostrich horse had taken his bag too, and with it his clothes and gold. Gasping, he curled in on himself as he succumbed to violent coughs once more, staining his lips deep red and spitting blood into the grass.

 

Somehow he made it to his feet, although he barely found the strength to walk. His mind was not able to form coherent thoughts anymore, but something within himself made his body move anyway. Step. Step. Step. He stumbled, crashed to the floor. It took him the best part of the next thirty minutes to get back on his feet.

 

Take a step.

 

Find his mother.

 

Don’t die.

 

Not yet.

 

Take a step…

 

His mind shut down. He was numb, no longer feeling his own pain anymore. Zuko had no memory of the next few hours, but somewhere along the way it must have started raining, still did when reached a hilltop – how had he managed to get up here? How would he ever make it down again? – with a headstone located in the middle of it.

 

“Lady Ursa”

 

There was a date etched into the stone beneath the name, but it had faded over the years. Faded enough to show that the woman had been buried a long time ago. This gravestone had probably been made all too soon after her banishment had been inflicted. All the years in which he had believed her to be dead… had she been dead for real all this time? Had all his hopes of finding her been in vain right from the very beginning?

 

Had she been another victim of the war?

 

Who had known her real name in this country and put it on the stone?

 

Tears slowly rolled over Zuko’s hollow cheeks. He reached for the stone and stopped his hand when his fingers hovered mere inches away from it. Then, slowly, he reached out and touched it, feeling sorry for disturbing the grave’s peace.

 

Ursa’s death became a cruel reality.

 

The gravestone being everything he could hold onto for support, Zuko broke down once more, not stifling his anguished cries this time, not caring if the world could hear the sorrow pouring from his broken heart. He had lost the only person who had ever loved him unconditionally, the only person who had never felt anything besides purest love for him, the only person whom he himself had loved all his life.

 

She had been even more of an anchor than Iroh. She had given him more warmth than anyone else ever could. She had been his mother.

 

Zuko did not know how long it took for his eyes to dry, but he felt it couldn’t have been all that long. He was empty, void of tears he could shed for her, having drowned in his grief already. Again and again he had pushed himself beyond his own limits, all but destroying his own body, and it had all been in vain. He had abandoned his nation in favour of crumbling before his mother’s grave. There was nothing left for him to do, having drained himself of all remaining strength and will, unable to return, alone and utterly devastated.

 

He couldn’t even bring himself to care when someone took the liberty of shielding him from the rain with a paper umbrella. The person knelt next to him in silence and seemed to study his face. Zuko didn’t care if anyone recognized his identity now. Let the person stare at his scar all they wanted. He was too lost to care anymore.

 

His eyes rested on the grave without blinking, a dull gold devoid of its usual fire. He could hear the breath rattling in his lungs. And then he could hear something else. It took him a while to figure out that it was a woman’s voice.

 

“It was a very quiet burial. Just me and the Fire Lady. We both wept over her passing and over your future, for we knew we couldn’t influence it anymore. It was never meant to hurt you, Zuko. It was just my way of coping.” There was silence for a while. “I can’t believe you have grown up so much, sweetheart.”

 

Slowly, Zuko turned his head and fought to focus his vision on the woman kneeling next to him. She wore a very simple dress, probably white but slightly stained over the years. Her face was soft and gentle and marred only by the slight foreshadow of lines that had yet to deepen. Her black hair was pulled back from her face and flowed freely down her back.

 

Her eyes were as golden as Zuko’s.

 

“No”, he rasped in disbelief.

 

Tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry, Zuko. I’m so sorry. “

 

He couldn’t manage more than an anguished, broken whisper. “Mom?”

 

She pulled him into her arms and he buried his face in her neck. Ursa still smelled like she used to, that comforting smell that had always made him feel safe and protected and loved. He sobbed, while her fingers slowly combed through his messy hair and her voice, so familiar even after all these years, whispered soothing words, holding him close as he fought to comprehend what was going on. Just like the ostrich horse, Reality had thrown him off and left him lost in the middle of nowhere. He tightened his hold on Ursa, needing the reassurance that, yes, she was there, and silently swearing he would never ever let go of her again.

 

Ever so slowly, the world went black, and still he strained to hear her lovely voice just for a little while longer.

 

* * *

 

Zuko woke several days later. He was lying in a narrow bed that smelled like his mother. At once he shot up, causing his surroundings to spin and nausea to hit him full force. A slightly wet cloth slipped from his forehead to land in his lap. Blinking, he slowly took in his surroundings as he waited for the dizziness to fade. The room was small, but it radiated comfort and an unmistakable feeling of home. Sunlight filtered through pale curtains and gave the sparsely furnished room a warm glow. There was a door, probably leading to the main room of the… what was it, really? A house? A cottage? A barrack? He wasn’t familiar with living arrangements this size.

 

And then it hit him.

 

This was his mother’s home.

 

The door opened and Ursa slipped into the room. A smile lit up her face. He couldn’t help but stare, still struggling to face the reality of her being alive after all. Alive and here. With him.

 

“You’ve woken up.” She sat on the bed and took his face into both of her hands. Her eyes watered once more and she placed three kisses on his face, just as she had used to do when he had woken from a nightmare. One on each cheek, one on the forehead. “You had me scared.”

 

“Mom”, he whispered. She simply smiled and pushed him back onto the bed, murmuring something about sleeping it out.

 

She was there when he awoke the next time. They were silent while she watched him eat, hunger slowly returning to his fatigued body. Ursa explained the events of the past few days in a very calm but also very, very serious manner. It took her several tries, for Zuko was not able to stay awake for long periods of time.

 

Obviously, Zuko had blacked out in her arms back on her hilltop. With the help of that faithless ostrich horse – which had proceeded to find the nearest human settlement after throwing him off, which so conveniently happened to be Ursa’s own home – she had taken him back to her place. The following days must have been quite nasty, for she had battled with his dying body for her son’s life. He was far from anything that could be considered healthy, but the fever was down to a level that wasn’t quite as lethal. The coughing was still as bad as before, though, and she feared the worst for his lungs. They might have been seriously damaged both by the strain he put them through the past weeks, months even, and by being drenched in cold rain that day on the hill. She had forced small helpings of soup down his throat while he was out, and now he found himself able to stomach only small portions of food at a time. Too much and he would throw up violently. Another lesson learned the hard way.

 

With guilt clouding her eyes Ursa told him that she had sent a message to the Jasmine Dragon in Ba Sing Se, hoping to reach Iroh and, through him, help from the Fire Nation. Zuko was still hovering on the brink of death and needed a healer.

 

Had his blood pressure been any closer to a normal level, he would have blushed furiously with the realization that Katara would probably be the one to come storming here to patch him up. Then she would give him a good thrashing and patch him up a second time. Still, something inside of him warmed at the mere thought of seeing her and Iroh once more. Now that his mind could rest, he realized how much he had missed them. Both of them. All of them.

 

And Ursa the most.

 

The thought pricked at the back of his mind, and slowly he remembered that there was something very important that she had to know, something he had longed to tell her for such a very long time

 

“I love you”, he whispered. And then he slipped into exhausted darkness once more, Ursa’s happy smile carrying over from reality into his dreams.

 

Zuko fought to stay awake each day, but usually he would just eat a few bites, listen to what Ursa felt she had to tell him and fall asleep again. Sometimes he grazed consciousness enough to notice things, although he wouldn’t wake up fully. Like the smell of tea drifting through Ursa’s small home one day. Or his mother’s sobs and Iroh’s voice, trying to comfort her. “He was your father…” “You did the right thing.” Sometimes he felt his uncle sitting on the edge of the bed, softly singing, although his voice seemed to break sometimes. Was he crying? Zuko yearned to open his eyes and check for himself, but he was too tired. In his sleep, though, Zuko would repeat parts of Iroh’s song in a feverish murmur. “Little soldier boy… come marching home…” He could feel a tear dripping onto his burning skin.

 

“Am I dying?” he whispered one day after coughing up blood once more. The fever had risen again, and Zuko had trouble breathing. Both Ursa and Iroh smiled, although to him, it seemed a little forced. He couldn’t tell if that was just his unfocused mind playing tricks on him. They never left his side from then on, and, even in the worst nights, he could feel someone holding his hand or stroking his face gently.

 

Later, he wouldn’t be able to recount all that they told him when he was awake, most of the tales being told by Ursa to both him and Iroh. What he would remember, though, was that he had inherited more than just her eyes. Just as he had been wrecked with guilt over not being able to find her, she had been suffering from the things she had done in order to save Zuko, and being forced to leave him behind with Ozai. Guilt was what had kept her from contacting both Iroh and Zuko sooner, even when she knew that peace had been established and that her son was looking for her. Some part of her had always feared that her son would not, could not love her anymore.

 

Zuko had no idea how much time had passed when, one day, the pressure on his chest started to ease and breathing slowly came much more easily to him. A soothing chill swept through his whole body, gradually lowering the fever.

 

“Just hold on”, a female voice whispered. “I won’t let you die. You won’t get away from me that easily.”

 

His eyes opened a crack and made out the shape of a girl dressed in blue. He managed to smile before he slipped into a much easier sleep again.

 

XXX

 

Zuko was able to return to the Fire Nation many long and hard weeks afterwards. Katara and Ursa had done everything they could to nurse him back to health, and, to an extent, it worked. There was no denying the fact, though, that his health had suffered permanently. Although he was fine most of the time, he was also much more prone to fall ill, and each illness threatened to crush his lungs completely.

 

He did not find his nation in ruins, but he was welcomed back with cheers and smiles and some tears of relief. Although his staff had worked hard to convince the people that their Lord was gone on a diplomatic mission, the reality of his near death had still slipped past the palace’s walls and the whole nation had risen each morning hoping for his return and fearing to hear of his demise. Without a member of the royal family to hold the throne until then, Avatar Aang had taken it upon himself to help in whatever way he could. People were more than glad to have Zuko back on the throne, though. They considered him the much more capable leader of their nation.

 

Life started to look brighter upon Zuko’s return. Iroh left the Jasmine Dragon in capable hands and even turned it into a chain store by opening a second tea shop in the Fire Nation Capital. He observed the way things were handled at the palace and was quick to kick out those advisors who had thought themselves so clever by piling their own work on top of the Fire Lord’s. Zuko was still prone to overwork himself in the attempt to be a good ruler, but he was no match against Ursa’s and Katara’s combined efforts. They forced him to redirect more of the work to his advisors. Pleasantly enough, he found that this left him with much more energy to spare on the more important matters, which affected his nation in a very positive way. He learned to trust his advisors with more menial tasks, on which they would update him regularly so he could interfere only when he felt it was necessary.

 

Zuko still visited his father and his sister in prison on occasion. He knew Ursa did so too, but they never talked about their respective visits. Knowing was enough. There was no need to further delve into painful matters.

 

Uncle Iroh worked on new breathing techniques with him that allowed Zuko to firebend properly despite his weak lungs. The exercises gave him the sense of balance he had missed in his role as Fire Lord previously. He went back to slipping into that role in public, but shed it whenever he got the chance.

 

Suffering had been his teacher all his life and that would probably never change. However, Zuko was learning and adapting, and somehow it seemed that life just worked out that way for him. There was no need for him to be the perfect Fire Lord, the perfect son, nephew or husband. He didn’t need to be perfect. He needed to be just right, and that was something he could accomplish.

 

Laughter drifted up from the gardens and through the windows of his office. Frowning, Zuko glanced from the windows to the extremely complicated financial report on his desk. Rolling his eyes, he finally got up from his desk and walked onto the balcony, where Avatar Aang joined him moments later.

 

 “So, where is the Fire Lord?”

 

“In there”, Zuko said and pointed over his shoulder into the office. “He’s waiting until Zuko has had enough fresh air and quality time with his silly friends.”

 

Aang grinned. Together they watched as Sokka tried to get out of the pond without being attacked by the turtleducks. Again. Zuko smiled contentedly as he imagined just how much that had to hurt.

 

All things considered, maybe he had been born lucky after all.

 

* * *

 

  
_Not seeing that loving you  
That’s what I was trying to do_

 

 


End file.
